


Y is for Yearning

by Janieshi



Series: Alphabet [25]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: In which Havoc learns that avoidance does not solve his problems, is then dealt a life-changing injury that forces him to re-evaluate his sense of self-worth, and pines from afar. Until the object of his pining decides she's had just about enough of his bullshit.





	Y is for Yearning

_Yearning/_ jɜr-niŋ _/ noun – a deep desire; an intense feeling of longing for something, especially something difficult or impossible to obtain._

* * *

Jean woke, dizzy and miserable, without the least idea of where he was or how he had gotten there. He was promptly sick, right into a bowl that had been conveniently placed on the floor beside him…on the couch which was far too comfortable to be his own.

Disoriented and still vaguely nauseous, he managed to stumble and shuffle his way into a tiny bathroom, where he was immediately sick again. He dry-heaved over the toilet for a several long minutes, until he was reasonably certain that there was nothing left in his stomach to purge. As he rinsed his mouth at the sink, he absently noted the pastel colors and various feminine toiletries around him, which told him that the bathroom most likely belonged to a woman. Now seemed like a pretty good time to make his escape if he wanted to avoid an extremely awkward morning after, then.

What the fuck had happened last night, anyway? Whose apartment was this?

The last thing Havoc remembered clearly was telling Catalina that he didn’t feel well and was heading out - whatever had been in that accursed neon-blue drink had hit him _hard._ And very suddenly. He knew he’d been determined to get his stupid, drunk ass home and sleep it off, before he made a bigger fool of himself in front of Rebecca.

She’d still been sitting at the bar when he left, he was sure of that much at least. He’d definitely made it to the door under his own power, but then…but then what? Everything after that was a blank.  

As quietly as he could, Jean disposed of the bowl’s unpleasant contents, and then washed it as thoroughly as he could before leaving it propped in the drying rack next to the kitchen sink.

He debated peeking into the bedroom to determine _who_ exactly he had gone home with (and subsequently disappointed, seeing as how he’d woken up alone and fully clothed and on the _couch_ …) but he decided that not knowing would ultimately be less mortifying for them both. At least he would still be able to look whoever-she-was in the eye next time they met, if he didn’t know it was her, right?

Right.

And so it wasn’t until he had let himself out of the building that he actually realized where he’d been. And who he’d been with.

Look, in his defense, he’d only been there like twice before, always with Lieutenant Hawkeye, and he’d never actually been inside of the apartment before – they’d only ever been picking up or dropping off Catalina, on the way to or from happy hour with the guys, and – fuck! Now it was way too late to go back up and simply _ask_ Rebecca what the hell had happened last night– he’d locked the door behind himself when he’d left, of course. How could he possibly knock to be let back in without revealing that he’d just been trying to slink off like the worst kind of scoundrel after a drunken one-night stand?  

Fuck.

Why did stupid shit like this always happen to him?! Of course it had to be the woman he was not-so-secretly ass-over-teakettle for – because of fucking _course_ it did. The universe fucking hated him.

Oh man, what if he’d puked in front of her the night before? And how had they even gotten back to her place? He’d never been blackout drunk like this before; he had no idea of how he might’ve behaved. As wasted as he’d been, he couldn’t have actually… _you know_. But he still might have made a nuisance of himself trying to kiss her something, and – oh god, he’d never be able to look Catalina in the face again. Assuming Hawkeye didn’t simply kill him and dispose of the body.

His one consolation was that he’d never even see it coming.

* * *

Many of Havoc’s blanks were filled in once he walked into the office later that morning, of course. Breda and Fuery fussed and quarreled and interrupted each other as they rattled off a convoluted explanation involving an ongoing crime spree with multiple victims and an upcoming sting operation that was set to bring down the perpetrators. The whole thing made Havoc’s already aching head spin a bit (which wasn’t helped at all by Falman’s occasional interjections when he attempted to clear up points the others tried to gloss over).

Drugged….no wonder he had the hangover from hell and couldn’t remember anything. But before he could feel any sense of relief, Havoc realized that this also meant that Catalina – feisty, warm-hearted, loyal, gorgeous goddess _Catalina_ \- had taken him home to _take care of him_. And then he’d snuck out on her like a stray cat without so much as a ‘thanks for making sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit in an alley somewhere.’

He couldn’t bring himself to face her. It was too damn humiliating. Oh, the others didn’t know he’d slept over, thankfully, or he’d _never_ have heard the end of it. He assumed he had Hawkeye to thank for withholding that little tidbit from the team. But it was bad enough that he had to endure Hawkeye’s increasingly dark and disapproving glares in his direction. Jean didn’t think he could take that kind of disappointment coming from the girl he was desperately in love with, too.

Besides, as muzzy as his memory of that night still was, he had this series of vague snapshots floating up from the depths of his subconscious. Catalina’s voice, nervous and high: ‘ _Please…I need help_!’ Softness and warmth pressed tight against his chest, and then sharp pain. He had a lump on the back of his head, a nasty bruise along one hip, and a very sore knee. Did he…had she had to push him off? Shove him hard into something, like a wall maybe, to stop his unwanted advances? He’d no doubt earned the violence, but…what exactly had he _said_ to her? What had he _done_?

Maybe it made him a coward, but Havoc was too afraid to ask. Too ashamed even to beg for Catalina’s forgiveness…because what if she couldn’t quite give it? Making sure he didn’t die in an alley somewhere was one thing.  But to have some idiot (drugged idiot, but still) pawing at her without her permission, and then possibly (probably) having to forcefully shove him off of her when he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer? How on earth could he ask her to overlook that?

And she’d still taken him home to let him sleep it off on her couch…covered him with a blanket, even! She was a goddamned saint with the face of an angel. And he was a fool to think she’d ever even look twice at him.

So logically, he avoided her. And the more time that passed, the more painfully awkward everything felt, until Havoc found himself ducking out of rooms and making excuses not to spend time with his friends after hours, just in case _she_ might turn up there. He lied about having a girlfriend, even, although he could tell by their faces that Hawkeye and Breda, at least, didn’t believe a word of it.

Before anyone (specifically Hawkeye, whose dark looks were starting to draw the attention of the others) could call him on his idiocy (and poorly thought-out lies), or force him to make things right with Catalina, Mustang’s entire team was transferred to Central.

And that, so it seemed, was the end of that.

And then there was Solaris.

And then life as Havoc knew it ended with two bladed fingertips to his spine.

* * *

_Five months later_

Havoc would’ve said that walking away from his military career had been difficult, only...well. He wasn’t walking anywhere these days. Mustang’s faith in him was both an inspiration and a burden, but it was at least something to cling to as he fought against his own unresponsive limbs. On his good days, his colonel’s words echoed in his ears as he worked his upper body, panting and sweating his way through exercises designed to build up what strength he still had available to him. On his bad days, when he struggled with the simplest tasks, he brooded in silence, feeling too broken and too tired to be ashamed of his bitter tears. And on his blackest days, he never got out of bed at all, leaving his mother to flutter helplessly at the door while his father hushed her and told her to just let him be.

It was easier to have a goal. A task that he could work toward, something that would make him feel a little less useless. And though they were careful not to make a big deal over it, he could tell that his parents were excited when he took an interest in the family store.  Even out here, he realized, he could be ready for the spring. He could do more than simply pass along a message. He could still contribute something. Slowly, cautiously, Jean began to make plans.

If he hadn’t been expecting someone, Havoc might not have heard the gentle tap at the door. Wheeling himself over as quickly as he dared, he made sure the gun in his lap was concealed but still in easy reach before he undid the deadbolt.

And there, with a mixture of defiance and fear on her gorgeous face, stood the very last person he’d expected to see. The woman he’d been yearning for since…god, since the moment he’d first met her, if he was honest with himself.

“Catalina?” he gasped. How in the hell was it possible for her to be even more stunning than she’d been the last time he’d seen her?

“Can I come in?” she asked, tense and terse.

Feeling foolish, Jean maneuvered himself out of the doorway and gestured to indicate she should enter. His clumsy movements drew Catalina’s eyes to his chair. Her lips thinned as she quickly looked away, and Jean – god, he wanted to hate her for it. But any irritation he might have felt for her refusal to acknowledge his pathetic, damaged body was subsumed by a fresh wave of self-loathing. How could he possibly blame her for not wanting to face what he himself could barely accept?

With a twisted sort of defiance, Jean wheeled himself back over to his usual spot near the window, leaving Rebecca to hover awkwardly just inside the doorway, where he’d left her. He could feel her eyes following his progress, and his self-loathing slipped back into anger. What the fuck was this, anyway? He didn’t need or want her fucking pity. He’d been fine for months now without it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, resentment seeping into his voice. Catalina jerked slightly, startled by the abruptness of his question, but the flicker of surprise on her face quickly gave way to wariness.

“Weren’t _you_ the one who arranged all of - didn’t you get the message? About our collecting the, uh…special order?” she asked, brow furrowed. Almost timidly, she took a few steps towards him, as if concerned for his sanity.

The tiny sliver of hope Jean had been refusing to acknowledge shattered into dust. So this _wasn’t_ a social call, then. She was only here for the mission.

“Yeah, I – right. Of course. I wasn’t expecting _you_ to be the pickup, that’s all,” he said, gruff. Catalina stilled, and he could feel her staring at him again.

“Would you have withdrawn your offer of assistance, if you’d known it would bring me here?” she asked, softly.

“What? No!” Havoc snapped. As if he’d let the Colonel down yet again? This was the least he could do; the _only_ way he could still help his former teammates. “I just – I just wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

Catalina laughed, a hard, bitter sound.

“So if they’d told you beforehand that I was the contact, you’d have arranged for someone else to make the delivery instead. Right?”

Havoc didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“Why are you such an ass?!” Catalina cried suddenly.

“Excuse me?” Jean demanded, affronted.

“What, do you think I’m stupid, Jean?” she snapped. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since that night! Don’t play dumb; you know exactly which night I mean - when you were drugged at that bar. You even climbed out the damn window in the middle of the night just so you wouldn’t have to talk to me about what happened!”

“I didn’t climb out the _window_ ,” he started to argue. Catalina steamrolled right over him.

“You never even let me say I was sorry!” she burst out.

“Wha-? What the fuck do YOU have to be sorry for?” Jean asked, thrown. “I was the one who- I mean, I don’t quite remember it all, but I, I know that _you_ didn’t do anything wrong,” he spluttered, confused.

“It was supposed to be _me_.”

“What was?” Jean asked helplessly.

“The drink,” she replied. “The stupid, blue, drugged _drink_ ,” her voice broke on the last word, and she drew several shaky breaths before continuing. “It was meant for me. If you hadn’t been there, then I’d have been the next victim. Not you,” she said.

“Fuck, Becca, and you think you owe me some kind of _apology_ for that?” Jean asked, incredulous.  “You think I would wish that-that kind of _attack_ on anyone _,_ let alone a friend? You think I’m, what, pissed off that it was me and not you?”

“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”

“You know why,” Jean said, abruptly turning his head away, ashamed.

“No! No, I _don’t_ know why, you giant idiot!” she yelled. “Is it because you avoided me for, like, literal months after that night? _After_ confessing your undying love and adoration for me while you were drugged to the gills, I might add?”

Fuck, that had actually happened? Memories of that night were still spotty….but in keeping with the ongoing ‘the universe hates me’ theme of his life, it sounded about right.

Havoc cringed.

“Or is it because you left Eastern without so much as a wave in my general direction when Mustang had your whole team transferred?” she demanded. “Even _Kain_ made a point of finding me to say goodbye, Jean, and I’d barely said two words to that kid!”

“Becca, I-”

“Oh, don’t you ‘Becca’ ME, you bastard!” she interrupted him angrily, hands on her hips.  “So not only do you avoid me without telling me why, and then leave town without saying goodbye, but then-then! Then the very next thing I hear is that you’ve been seriously injured, and you’re in the hospital. And when I try to call and check how you’re doing; see whether you’re okay - you refuse to take my damn calls? I am still so fucking pissed that you wouldn’t even–! AGH!” she cried, beginning to pace. “Riza was the one who told me you’d invalided out, because I sure as hell didn’t hear about it from you! I didn’t even know that you’d moved back home - I had to find _that_ out from Vato, who still writes me postcards even though he’s stationed in the middle of fucking nowhere with the damn Briggs Bears right now!”

She was red in the face by this time, breathing hard.

“And this mission! Did you contact me; the _one_ person in all this who’s still stationed closest to your physical location?  A person who you _knew_ would drop everything and anything to help out? NO! No, _this_ I got to hear about from some random chick living in hiding in the middle of fucking XING! A dead woman in another country was the person who called to tell me about this plan of yours, Jean. Do you know how that felt?”

“You know why I couldn’t tell you, Rebecca,” Havoc said, his voice low and dark. Rebecca damn near stomped her foot.

“No! I don’t know! I’m not a goddamn mind-reader, Jean!” she yelled. “Apparently I’ve misplaced my crystal fucking ball! Are we still stuck on that night? Are you ashamed of what you _said_ , or of how you ran out on me before we could even talk about it? Did you not mean it? Did you want to take it back? What?” she demanded, insistently. “I’m a big girl; I can handle whatever you have to say to me.”

“You can _handle_ – fuck, Becca, you don’t need me to burden you with my goddamn pathetic feelings, okay?” Jean said, frustrated and embarrassed. “I’m not pitiful enough to dump my depressing heartbreak shit on you, especially not _now_!”

“God, you fucking moron!” she cried. “Did it seriously never once occur to your stupid little pea-brain that the ‘goddamn pathetic feelings’ might just be _mutual_?!”

Jean could only gape at her in utter shock.

“No,” he finally whispered. “What? No, that’s…I-I never had a chance. I never – not with _you_.”

“So, what, you deal with that completely incorrect assumption by running away? And then you decide to settle for some cheap knock-off substitute instead?” Rebecca snapped, still angry. “Remind me: how’d that turn out for you?”

Jean blanched. And Rebecca’s face crumpled a bare second later.

“God, Jean, I didn’t mean that,” she said, ashamed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t– I wasn’t thinking, I just – I just meant that even if you didn’t want _me_ anymore then you should’ve at least chosen someone better than a _Solaris_ ,” she choked out, as her tears finally started to spill.

“Yeah, caught on to that one on my own, thanks,” Jean managed. The wave of white-hot pain in his chest made him wonder distantly whether he’d actually been stabbed again. “But thanks for the reminder.”

“No, I’m not – I don’t mean to rub it in,” Rebecca said earnestly, not bothering to check her tears. “I’m so sorry Jean, I just meant …I mean, obviously she lied to you, and she turned out to be a manipulative murderous bitch, and you couldn’t possibly have known that beforehand, but the girl she was pretending to be wasn’t good enough to begin with,” she rambled, tripping over her own words in an uncharacteristic display of awkwardness. “You deserve better than that, you know? You should be with someone who’s- who’s smart, and ambitious, and kind and f-funny,” she stuttered, rubbing at her cheeks with a shaking hand. “Someone who makes you laugh, and drives you crazy, and makes you smile for no reason…someone who makes your heart beat just a little bit faster whenever they walk in the room...”

It was Jean’s turn to laugh bitterly. First of all, she’d just described herself. But besides that…

“Yeah, sounds great,” he said sarcastically. “Too bad that’s all fucking out of reach now, Rebecca, since I can’t even stand up under my own goddamn power!”

Shocked by his sudden rage, Rebecca reared back.

“What does your injury have to do with you deserving to love someone who loves you back?” she wanted to know.

“Don’t you get it?” he roared. “‘Your injury,’ she says, like it doesn’t make me deadweight. Like I don’t have to rely on my parents to support me, because I wasn’t in long enough to qualify for a full pension and they’re still disputing whether or not I went down in the line of duty and refusing to pay out any benefits until my case is finalized. Like I don’t need help getting out of bed in the mornings! Like I don’t need help bathing myself, for fuck’s sake! Exactly what kind of husband would a miserable, washed-up cripple like me even make, huh? What woman would ever want a broken toy soldier who’s no use to anyone, Rebecca, you tell me that!”

“Jean,” she breathed out, stunned.

Havoc’s shoulders sagged, the fight going out of him abruptly, and he drew in a ragged breath.

“What kind of man am I without my legs?” he murmured.

“The same kind of man you were _with_ them!” Rebecca insisted, eyes flashing.

“That’s not true, Rebecca, you know it’s not true,” Jean said. “It’s not the same as it was, and it never will be. I won’t have anyone, especially not _you_ , dragged into a life of, of playing _nursemaid_ out of pity. You deserve better than that! You deserve someone who’s whole and not some defective wreck of a man who can’t even walk or stand on his own!”

“And don’t I get a say in it?” she retorted. “Don’t I deserve to be with the person I want to be with, regardless of what condition he happens to come in?”

“God, Becca, how could you possibly…how could you ever love a man who…who’s…”

“Who’s kind? Who’s loyal and honest and honorable and sweet, and, and…” Rebecca was crying in earnest, now, fat tears streaming down bright pink cheeks.

And just who in the hell was still that fucking gorgeous when she was full-on crying, anyway? It really wasn’t fair, Jean thought.

“And you’re not useless, you idiot; who came up with this whole plan in the first place?” Rebecca went on. “Who’s turned his family’s little general store into a more profitable enterprise in two months than it had been for the previous ten years, huh?”

“That’s- that doesn’t-”

“So you need some extra help sometimes; so the fuck what? How about all the stuff you _can_ do, huh? I just watched you cross a room without any help from anyone, Jean, and don’t even pretend you can’t still shoot that gun in your lap just as well as you ever did. You’re seriously gonna sit there with those arms and those shoulders and tell me you aren’t already building up the upper body strength to compensate?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” she demanded. “I don’t care about your legs, Jean! Being in a wheelchair doesn’t change who you are; it doesn’t make you useless, and it doesn’t make you any less of the man I fell for!”

She choked on a sob and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

And it hit Jean like a bullet between the eyes.

She said she’d _fallen_ for him. Rebecca Catalina had fallen for _him_. In spite of his, well, everything, she wanted _him_. Against all odds, here she stood pouring her heart out, insisting that she was in love with him…and swearing that he was worthy of her love. And he was trying to talk her out of it? What kind of dumb fuck - had he sustained a _brain_ injury along with the spinal damage? She was in tears, for heaven’s sake, right in front of him!

Suddenly Jean couldn’t take it any longer.

“Becca, I can’t exactly jump up and sweep you into my arms all dramatic-like,” he said, voice husky. “You’ll have to come over _here_.”

Rebecca raised her tear-stained face, frustration and distress slowly giving way to cautious hope. Jean reached out for her in a mute plea, and she managed a weak, incredulous huff.

“Please?” he whispered, his soft blue eyes full of adoration and longing. “Please tell me I’m not too late.”

Rebecca crossed the room in an instant, and would have dropped to her knees in front of his chair if he hadn’t simply wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

Settled sideways, Rebecca buried her damp, flushed face into his shoulder, threw her arms around his neck, and held on tight. Jean stroked a hand up slowly up and down her back, whispering nonsense apologies into her hair. She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob when he brushed his lips against her temple.

“How are you even real?” she asked, voice muffled against his collarbone.

“That’s my line,” he murmured back. She lifted her head and drew back a little to look at him, and he took the opportunity to cup her cheek, brushing gently at the lingering tear tracks with a callused thumb.

Rebecca turned her head slightly and placed a kiss into the center of his palm. Jean swallowed, hard. As his pupils dilated, Rebecca’s cautious smile turned faintly wicked.

Taking his hand in hers, she pressed a lingering kiss to his knuckles, and then guided that hand to her hip. Jean let out a shuddering breath as he swayed towards her, moth to flame. She met him halfway.

He’d been prepared for a relatively chaste first kiss, or a slow and tentative exploration, or even for a passionate and bruising sort of kiss. But he hadn’t been expected to feel so… _claimed_. He hadn’t thought that a mere press of lips could make his heart melt like this, could make him feel lightheaded and boneless and grounded all at the same time. Could make him feel cherished. _Precious_.

By _god_ , the woman could kiss.

When they finally they broke apart, both breathing hard, Jean rested his forehead gently on hers.

“Wow,” he managed.

“That’s my line,” Rebecca said, with a helpless little giggle. Jean tightened his hold on her. He never wanted to let her go.

The chime of the hall clock startled them both.

“Shit, is that the time?”

“Fuck, the checkpoint!” Jean cried.  “Our guy’s only on duty for another hour, Becca. You’ve gotta leave now if you want to make it through in time.”

“Dammit,” she hissed, and leaned forward to steal another kiss, and then another. “You’re right,” she murmured against his lips. “I have to go. But we are _not_ finished with this. No matter what happens in the next few days, okay? First of all, we are both going to survive this insane coup-insurrection-uprising. And then we are going to talk about this: this thing, this _us_. About what we both want and where this is going, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, cheekily. Rebecca punched his arm.

“Ow!”

“And don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you use a wheelchair,” she said primly.

“Ow, noted, geez…” Jean laughed, rubbing his sore bicep.

“I am counting on you to be here for me to come home to, Jean Havoc, do you hear me?”

Jean exhaled shakily, giddy with love and fear and anticipation.

“Loud and clear,” he managed. “I’ll be waiting for you. Now go - truck’s parked ‘round the back, keys under the floor mat, instructions and cash for the checkpoint taped to the sun visor,” he explained quickly as Rebecca rose and straightened her skirt and blouse. God, she was the most incredible woman he’d ever met. Jean bit his lip, hard, relieved that the sudden pain confirmed that this whole thing hadn’t just been a vivid dream. He must have made a sound, because Rebecca, who was still finger-combing her hair back into place, shot him a questioning glance. Jean shook his head slightly.

“Go, and come back,” he murmured, his eyes bright. “Come back home to me.”

“You’re a sap,” Rebecca whispered, leaning close again. “Heaven help me; I’ve fallen in love with a complete and total sap. And I think I like it.” She kissed him one last time, fierce and forceful. A promise.

And then she was gone. And for the first time in months, Jean was left alone with the bittersweet ache of hope in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Lex Asriel, who asked for yenning or yearning.


End file.
